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“I’ve wanted to dance with you like this since the first week of class,” he said near my ear, his voice barely more than breath.

“You didn’t seem the type,” I replied.

“I’m not. Except with you.”

I couldn’t look away from him. He spun me once, slowly, then drew me back in so that the world narrowed to just the feel of him—warm, steady, and utterly unreadable.

Bethany and Edric weren’t far behind, though they moved with a subtle tension—like they were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, that it didn’t matter, but it did. Every stolen glance between them said so.

Lydia and Leander moved like they’d been choreographed by stars, laughing softly between steps, their chemistry undeniable in the way their bodies leaned without touching.

Vivienne and Julian danced too, though she seemed more interested in watching us than him. Her gaze kept straying, icy and unblinking. When Samael pulled me just a bit closer during a dip, I saw her smile freeze, brittle and tight.

The room shimmered with laughter and candlelight. Glasses clinked, skirts twirled, and snow drifted from the high vaulted ceiling like a dream.

Yet beneath the enchantment, beneath the music, warmth, and wonder—I felt it.

The thread.

The tug of something waiting.

But for tonight, I let it go.

I let him hold me like I was the only secret that ever mattered.

Eventually, the music slowed into something gentler, a lilting nocturne that seemed to coax the room into a soft exhale. One by one, couples peeled away from the dance floor, laughter echoing through the enchanted chamber as they made their way to the edges of the room.

Samael’s hand lingered on the small of my back as we followed, his touch light but sure. I could still feel the rhythm of the dance in my limbs, the way his breath had ghosted over my skin, as if he’d been trying to memorize the shape of me without speaking.

We found a circular table near the long row of enchanted candelabras, the wax never melting, their flames dancing in mesmerizing blues and golds.

The velvet-lined chairs felt like they’d been conjured from some noble ballroom of another era—plush, regal, slightly too extravagant for school furniture.

Bethany and Edric arrived just behind us.

She plopped down beside me with a sigh of satisfied triumph, her skirts cascading like ivy around the base of her seat.

Edric, ever composed, sat beside her with a grace that felt almost too precise—though he didn’t protest when her arm found his and hooked through it with practiced ease.

“If I die tonight,” Bethany said dramatically, “let it be known that it was from the sheer beauty of this event and not because I consumed six champagne cocktails.”

“It’s only your third,” Lydia said, settling across from her with Leander in tow. She smiled behind her glass. “And only two of them were yours.”

“Technicalities,” Bethany waved off, grinning as she raised her flute for another sip. “Everything counts if you sparkle enough while doing it.”

Leander leaned forward, bracing an elbow on the table, his fingers lazily spinning the stem of his own drink. “You do seem to be sparkling quite a lot, Beth.”

“Natural radiance,” she said without missing a beat. “Thank you for noticing.”

Edric rolled his eyes faintly, though the curve of his mouth betrayed the smile he was holding back.

I rested my chin on my hand, taking in the scene around us. The dining hall-turned-ballroom was alive with magic—candles floating in suspended rings above the dance floor, their light reflecting off the sequins and embroidery of dozens of gowns.

Students from every year swirled between the tables and the floor, many of them laughing, a few even wiping away tears of joy. Professors mingled at a separate table nearby, chatting with cups of spiced wine and content expressions I rarely saw in the classroom.

Professor Thornbriar danced with the groundskeeper, both of them laughing breathlessly as they twirled in perfect rhythm. Headmistress Grimrose sat nearby, regal in midnight robes trimmed with constellation charms, her stern expression softened by something almost like pride.

Even Professor Coldwell, who rarely smiled at anything, looked relaxed as he stood by the punch bowl, deep in conversation with another faculty member I didn’t recognize.

For one night, the Academy felt untouched by darkness. Untouched by loss. It felt suspended—perfect.

“I love seeing everyone like this,” Lydia said, her fingers absently brushing Leander’s knuckles where their hands rested side by side on the table. “It’s like we’re all breathing the same dream.”

Leander tilted his head. “That’s oddly poetic. Have you been sneaking champagne without us?”

She smirked. “No. I’m just choosing to be present.”

Bethany sipped from her glass again. “Remind me to get that stitched on a pillow.”

“I’ll embroider it myself,” Edric added, dry as ever.

“You embroider?” Bethany asked, raising a brow.

Edric blinked, then looked genuinely annoyed with himself for having said anything.

“My mother insisted I learn.”

“Suddenly I find you ten times more attractive,” she said with a wicked grin, leaning a little closer to him.

Across the table, Samael had remained mostly quiet, one arm draped casually along the back of my chair, but I could feel him watching me—studying me. The way his thumb idly brushed my shoulder, as if drawing something only he could see.

“What?” I asked, glancing up at him.

He shook his head slowly, the corners of his mouth curving with something warm. “Just trying to understand how someone like you is real.”

The words struck something in me—simple and devastating.

I smiled, unsure what to say, heart fluttering like a page turned too quickly.

“I could say the same,” I whispered.

His eyes dropped to my lips for the briefest of moments, but he said nothing, only leaned in a little closer. Not enough to draw attention—just enough that I could smell the faint trace of mint, sandalwood, and whatever cologne he wore that always made me a little dizzy.

Vivienne’s voice sliced into the moment like the sound of a crystal breaking.

“You’d think the two of you were performing a tragic opera.”

We turned as she approached the table, Julian at her side, his expression unreadable.

Vivienne’s gown shimmered with frost-like enchantment, the high slit revealing one long precise step after another. Her sandy hair was arranged in an elaborate twist, not a strand out of place. Yet, her eyes burned with familiar disdain as they flicked from me to Samael, then back again.

“Honestly,” she added with a sweet-but-deadly smile, “it’s almost exhausting how moonstruck you look, Sam. You’ve never liked theatrics.”

He didn’t respond right away. When he did, it was with a voice cool as the wind outside.

“Only when the performance is worth watching.”

Vivienne’s smile faltered for half a breath, then twisted upward again, tighter this time. “Hmm. Well, enjoy the fantasy while it lasts.”

She turned and walked away, Julian offering us an apologetic nod before following her, silent and composed as ever.

The table fell quiet for a beat.

Then Bethany said, “Honestly, if she threw one more sideways glance, I think her neck would’ve snapped.”

“She’s persistent,” I said, mostly to myself.

“She’s delusional,” Lydia corrected, sipping her drink.

“She’s in love,” Leander added. “Which, historically speaking, is always inconvenient.”

We laughed, softer now, and the moment recovered. The music changed again—this time to something slower, smoother, like silk being drawn over skin.

The next song began—low and languid; full of slow violins and echoing piano. Without a word, Samael extended his hand again.

I took it.

His fingers slid between mine, cool and sure. He guided me effortlessly back onto the floor, the world narrowing again to just the two of us. As we moved through the other couples, his gaze never wavered. He watched me like there was nothing else worth seeing.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” I murmured.

“Not yet,” he said softly, his hand settling again at the small of my back, “but I want to be.”